Through Other Eyes
by Monoshiri
Summary: Three years after the end of the series, life goes on, and so does death. Two new threats arise, one to the peace, one to the heart, and even those who sacrificed everything can't get a break...yaoi, het, KanShichiYuki, KanKyuu, KatsuKira, KikuKoma
1. The Living

_A/N: First-ever Samurai 7 fanfiction, so any and all constructive crit is welcome. Set three years after Episode 25, standard warnings apply: yaoi, het, violence, spoilers, "i-see-dead-ppl" syndrome, threesome. Warnings will be updated as the fic progresses._

**

* * *

****Through Other Eyes**

**Chapter One: The Living**

* * *

It was cold at night in the desert.

But that didn't stop them from coming to see him. It never did.

Tenmon sighed and pushed aside the burlap covering the entrance to his makeshift tent, holding it back so the girl could enter. Then he convinced her to sit down, because her current setting seemed to be stuck on "grovel, whimper, beg for help", and went about setting up his water-bowl as she offered him various small but valuable personal possessions.

She was some merchant's daughter, of low enough standing that she could get out of the city for a few hours to come see him, but not so low that she could escape an arranged marriage to a much older nobleman who'd used up three young wives already.

She wasn't an angel; she was spoiled and a little superficial, Tenmon knew that, but he didn't care. All he could feel for her now was pity; all he wanted to give her was some hope. So he waved away her jewel-filled hands.

"Do you have any rice balls?"

She blinked at the request, then scuttled out of the tent and held a whispered conversation with her maid. Moments later, she came back with not only her own bento, but that of her maid as well. Tenmon politely removed the simplest fare, the onigiri and warm miso, and gave the rest back. She watched him with increasing worry.

"I-is that enough?"

"It's perfect. Thank you."

"Don't you want the sukiyaki—"

"I'd rather not. If you would, please?"

She shut her mouth instantly, taking in with wide eyes how he crossed his legs and held the shallow water-bowl in his hands. No chanting, no props, he just shut his eyes and furrowed his brow—and opened them again a minute later, although to him it had felt like hours had passed.

"The man you've been betrothed to…in three weeks, he will be assassinated by a rival's bodyguard, and after that, they will discover he has been embezzling funds from the city government to further his own pursuits. From there, your father will be reluctant to betroth you to anyone else; you and your mother will have more of a say in who you marry."

Tenmon listened to her tearful thanks, and watched her flee the tent with the remainder of her bento in hand, and felt only relief. His prices were meager, but if he had made one more future happier, that was gift enough.

Then the vision struck him and he fell forward, the rice balls coming apart as they hit the dirt floor of the tent.

* * *

"You waited three months to tell me?"

"Well, I wanted to be _certain," _Yukino replied comfortably. It wasn't the most effective answer, but then, she was enjoying the gobsmacked look on her normally unflappable lover's face. "Don't you dare drop that dish, dear, it's worth more than most of my kimono."

Shichiroji looked from Yukino to the plate in his hand, then back, as if he were seeing both for the first time. Then he put the object down, went to her, and embraced her gently.

"I'm not made of china, Momotaro, I won't break like a plate."

"Well, it never hurts to be careful," Shichiroji murmured into her hair. "I guess this means I'll be taking over most of the chores for the next half a year or so..."

"That'd be nice, but definitely not necessary," Yukino chuckled. "I still feel fine. No real illness, no swelling."

"I'm glad." The warmth in her man's voice made Yukino hold on tighter than before to his arm. "Although..."

"Hm?"

"What should we tell Kanbei?"

* * *

"Wow, that much again? I bet the groupie's the fattest ghost _ever _by now, Komachi-chan."

"Heyyyy, Okara-chan, be a little more respectful of your Mikumari!" Komachi chided with no real heat as she pressed a double helping of rice into a mountain in the bowl. Okara's snicker made her stick out her tongue. "Anyway, Nunky's probably doing a lot of things in the afterlife, so his spirit needs lots of sustenance. Right, neesama?"

Kirara, former Mikumari and now the shrine priestess with the passing of their grandmother last autumn, looked up from her book with a start. "Hm? I'm sorry, Komachi, I wasn't paying attention..."

"Zoning out again, obaasama?" Okara teased, her black eyes gleaming. "Well, it's a time of year to be nostalgic, after all...for a certain samurai, maybe?"

"For a certain _seven_ samurai, Okara," Kirara said firmly, ignoring the 'obaasama' poke. Although she'd abdicated her position and her pendant to Komachi, she hadn't abandoned any of her responsibilities, in fact with their grandmother's death she'd assumed even more, as the villagers now looked to her as the voice of "young wisdom" from the shrine. It was tough going sometimes, that and helping Komachi learn all her duties, but it had one advantage; nobody ever gave Kirara the usual line for girls her age, "So when are you going to find some nice young man and settle down?" She just didn't have the time.

Or the inclination, come to think of it. The only two candidates she'd ever considered—and even then it had been so far beyond "good husband material" it almost made her cry—had left three years past, never to return.

"In any case, neesama, I'm saving the rice up for tomorrow...do we have some seasoning? I think Heihachi-dono and Gorobei-dono would like seasoning."

Kirara smiled and shelved her book. As lonely as her heart felt sometimes, she couldn't deny the way the village had blossomed after that terrible time of carnage. The harvests were uniformly good, and because they kept everything except a small amount for emergency tribute, they ate well, the children and young people were growing strong and tall, and the adults were more contented and calmer. On top of that, the confidence the menfolk had gained from their combat training had wrought a considerable change in their attitudes; they didn't panic or lash out anymore at new ideas or strangers.

And it was slow going, but she'd run across Rikichi and Sanae sitting quietly together, his arm slung over her shoulders, her body pressed firmly against his. No words, and it was still hard for them both after years of separation and brainwashing on Sanae's part, but they were getting there, and it encouraged Kirara to no end.

_And we have all of you to thank for it._

"Neesama?"

Kirara turned to the expectant Komachi. "I'm sure we have some around. Let's go find it, you two."

* * *

Tenmon hit his head on the rail as the skimmer jolted over a dune.

It was unusual for him to ride anywhere—he preferred walking infinitely over being carried across the sand by whining metal—but he'd needed to go somewhere fast this time. Normally this would have been a problem as he had no money, but the man driving the skimmer had known Tenmon's reputation, and an extensive warning about the man's business partner's under-the-table dealings and how they could be corrected had bought him passage.

People used to think Tenmon was the most elaborate liar when he'd first started out. But then everything he said came true, down to the last detail, and people started talking about him, started seeking him out.

He felt a little bad—he was supposed to head for Kagae this week and tell futures there. But this vision had hit him in the head with the weight of destiny behind it.

"Hey, Tenmon-sensei, we gotta make a stop-over for repairs, but we should make Kanna within the next three hours. That alright with you?"

Tenmon looked into the driver's anxious face and nodded. "Half an hour's difference shouldn't matter too much."

"Hah! They're never that fast at the repairs depot near Kogakyo!"

"They will be, this time," Tenmon said calmly.

* * *

Hokuto's sword spun out of her hands. She went after it...

...and her foe shoved his sword through her right ankle, damaging cybernetic circuits and pinning her to the ground by her leg. Cursing, she went for her selection of knives as she twisted around in the dirt.

The wind blew her opponent's scarf away, exposing his face.

"Gonna put one in your ribs, you cock-sucking shitty little—_YOU?"_

"I see you haven't changed much, Shichisei-dono," Okamoto Katsushiro said mildly as he went and picked up her double-bladed sword. He only needed to use one hand to do it, she noticed; its weight was such that most men needed to pick it up two-handed.

"What in the unholy name of the second Amanushi are you doin' out here?" Hokuto snapped at him. "Okamoto Katsushiro, this is the last place on earth I'd expect to find the likes of you runnin' around."

"Yes," the young man said, his green eyes solemn. "That's exactly why I'm here."

* * *

"Is that right?"

Yukino nodded confirmation, a little uneasy. On the one hand, she and Shichiroji had been bursting to tell Kanbei the good news, and it wasn't something they could keep from the man who'd become so close to them both; on the other, it also wasn't something they could just spring on their friend, and it had to have some kind of ceremony behind it out of respect for Shichiroji's old "husband". But Kanbei sat across from them and looked...tired. Smiling, but suddenly so very tired.

"Then, I'm very happy for you both."

"We were thinking if it's a boy, we would name him after you," Shichiroji let him know, pressing a teacup into his old comrade's hands.

For some reason, that got a chuckle out of Kanbei, albeit a slightly bitter one. "There are so many reasons that isn't a good idea, Shichiroji, I can't even begin to list them all."

"Father's prerogative," Shichiroji replied with the faint smile indicating he was going to be stubborn about this. Yukino had heard some of the girls refer to it as the "jump-me-now" smile, and women and men of various persuasions had fallen for it. "Even if he doesn't grow to be a samurai, it's a name with immense honour behind it."

"I think Hikaru is a lovely name for a little girl, if you're interested."

"Oh no, you're not weaseling out of this one, Kanbei_-sama."_

"Well, it is."

"I," Yukino announced over top of the two swordsmen, "am going to go and bring back _mochi, _and by the time I return I expect the two of you to either have resolved this nonsense either by reasoned discussion or a contest of who can give the other the better orgasm. Swords are not to be involved in this." Ignoring Shichiroji's protesting huff, she picked herself up and exited the tearoom with great dignity.

There was a moment's silence before Kanbei pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shichiroji...you know what this means."

"I know what _you _think it means," the blond man shot back, half-smile still fixed firmly in place. "But once in a while you're wrong about things. Trust your old "wife" on this one."

"I...have imposed on your and Yukino's kindness for far too long."

"I'm sure her egging me on when I dragged you into our not-exactly-marital bed meant an imposition on your part, right." Kanbei continued to stare at his tea; Shichiroji's smile started to fade. "Look, Kanbei...don't go. Please."

"I have to."

"You...it's not that you _can't. _I wouldn't presume to tell you of all people that. But you're part of this...of our weird little family. And it's painful watching you think you don't deserve any kind of happiness."

Kanbei put down his teacup. "Shichiroji..."

"You're going anyways, aren't you. Then I'll go with you."

"No you won't. You'll stay with Yukino and your child. If you try to follow me, so help me I'll knock you out."

Shichiroji's eyes narrowed. "That's just cold, Kanbei."

"I'll come back to you both. I swear it on my sword."

The air was fraught with tension for a moment; then both men looked away from each other. "I see."

"You do. Thank you."

By the time Yukino came back with the _mochi, _Kanbei had left, and his teacup sat there forlorn and cold. Yukino spent fifteen minutes railing with various levels of vitriol against a certain good-for-nothing freeloading samurai, then fell into Shichiroji's arms and cried furiously. At least part of this was so that he could bury his face in her hair to hide his own tears and preserve his dignity, even if there was nobody there to see them.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and a bit cool, but by the time the sisters had gathered up their rice offerings and made their way out of the water shrine towards the cliff, the sun's warmth was already burning through the morning mist. Halfway to the cliff, Okara appeared and fell in step with Komachi.

"Nice morning for a walk," was all the incisive young girl said, grinning. Komachi gave her an affectionate shove in response, and the two bickered and gossiped all the way there.

Kirara, distracted by the girls and her own thoughts, didn't notice the man until they were almost halfway across the clearing to the burial mounds, and only then because Komachi yelped out, "Look, neesama, there's someone already here!"

Kirara grabbed onto Komachi and Okara's shoulders without even realizing it, her eyes going wide as the stranger who'd been sitting before the graves got to his feet. He was of average height and looked somewhat younger than Rikichi; somewhere under the dust he had black hair, but his layers of rumpled clothes were worn ragged and patched, and his hands and face were dirty. The only part of him that wasn't some shade of desert-coated were his pale green eyes, as wide as her own and taking in the three intruding females.

"Oh...I'm sorry..."

Komachi, not surprisingly, recovered herself first. "Hey, who the heck are you and what are you doing hanging around Nunky and the others' graves like that, huh? Are you a grave-robber?"

"Komachi..." Kirara began warningly, only to be stopped by the man's quiet voice.

"No, no I'm not...I was just talking to them."

_"What?"_

"To them," he said patiently, "to Kikuchiyo-dono, Heihachi-dono, Gorobei-dono, and Kyuzo-dono, don't you see?"

Kirara's grip on Komachi's shoulder tightened as the younger girl practically vibrated with rage. "Is that your idea of a joke? Huh? Don't come up here and tell lies like that, I bet you just read their names, you..."

"Uh, Komachi-chan," Okara said in a would-be-reasonable voice, "where _would_ he have read the names? They're not on the graves. There's just the flag as a marker...Kirara-sama, you're hurtin' my shoulder."

Komachi stared at her friend in disbelief and made a choked noise. Kirara looked at the newcomer in silence, suspicion creeping over her.

"I promise you, I'm not a charlatan," he said, as she tilted her head to see if the shimmering shape behind him was a trick of the early morning light. "My name is Shichisei Tenmon...and I'm sorry if this is unusual for you, but it's also rather odd for me. Habitually, it's the living who ask me to contact the dead on their behalf, and not the other way around."

* * *

"Oi, oi, Ten-noji, I don't think they believe ya."

"Kirara-dono does, I think, but Komachi's not buying it."

"Ah goddamn it, we finally get one of these medium types out here and he's not even theatrical enough to make a proper go of it! Hey Ten-noji, let Gorobei-dono take over your body and maybe he can..."

"No I won't. You've seen this guy, possessing him takes huge bites out of his stamina and strength."

"Aw geez..."

"You'll convince them, Tenmon-san, I know you will. After all...not to pressure you, but you kind of have to."

"Fate of Kanna village and the world hanging in the balance, that sort of thing."

"Hei-noji, Gorobei-dono, you ain't helpin' none!"

"Heh, sorry. Hey, did they season the rice this time? It's extra-delicious when it's seasoned."

"...this is frivolous."

"Don't fret, Kyuuzou-dono, you'll get your chance to settle matters. You're the one who finally got through to Tenmon-san, after all."

"Heeeeeey, Komachi-chan, can you hear me? Believe this guy, he's grubby but he's honest! ...man, it's times like these being a ghost _sucks._"

"Perhaps you should move on to your next life as a vacuum cleaner, then."

"As a _what?"_

"Now I know the end of the world's nigh. Kyuuzou just made a joke. A lame joke, but a joke..."

* * *

Komachi eyed Tenmon as he cocked his head and pulled a wry face. "What are you doin'...?"

"Er, sorry, Kikuchiyo-dono is very loud, and he sprays steam a lot and waves his arms...psychically speaking it's very bewildering, it makes it hard to focus on the other three." He looked back at the world of the living for a moment, as the girls' eyes went round with shock. "Er...did I say something wrong?"

* * *

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	2. The Dead

**Through Other Eyes**

**Chapter Two: The Dead**

* * *

Three days and nights of travel through the desert brought them right into the middle of a Picker camp. Their honoured hosts, whose moniker was short for Garbage-Picker, punks and outcasts from society who lived in the desert wastes and scavenged or, sometimes, attacked travelers, were initially a little _too _interested in the new arrivals...after all, the attractive young man was too slender, and the tall woman too old and battered, to put up any real resistance.

All it took was a look from Katsushiro and a hint of drawn blade from Hokuto to warn the Pickers how badly things could go for them if there was trouble. Instead, they made space for the two around their fire and let them be.

After about an hour, Hokuto had them calling her "Auntie" and was swapping bawdy stories with the men, as some of the younger women approached Katsushiro and made him some very specific offers about services they would normally charge for, but he was a special case since he was so very pretty...

The fourth time he turned down such an offer, politely but with increasing firmness, Hokuto let out a loud, drunken bark of laughter (she'd not touched a drop of the Pickers' alcohol, letting it drain into the sand when no one was looking), and roared "No use, girls, no use! Give it up already!"

"So he likes men, then?"

"Ha! Who knows? You know what they say about us samurai!"

"...but Auntie, you ain't no samurai, you're an ex-cop."

"I'm samurai here!" Hokuto slurred, thumping herself on the left side of her solid breastbone, causing great mirth among her audience. "But I'll tell you why it's no use: he's got a woman he wants already, he's just too dumb to go back to her..."

Katsushiro's gaze fixed on the older woman. "Shichisei-dono, please don't."

"Oh shut up, kid. Anyways, this girl..."

"Yeah, tell us!"

"Shichisei-dono..." Katsushiro's tone became warning.

"Really classy type she is, long brown hair, slim, pretty, pale skin, good build, _great _legs...got high standing in her village, too, don't know why he ain't asked her to marry him yet..."

"_Shichisei-dono!"_

The whole encampment looked up with a start at Katsushiro as he practically vaulted into his traveling companion, his hands landing on her shoulders with a sharp thump. His eyes were dark with fury.

"Stop. Talking. Now."

Hokuto blinked, feigning surprise, then lowered her head in assent. "Yeah, yeah, sorry about that, Okamoto."

Katsushiro let go of her shoulders and made himself scarce among the tents. The Pickers looked after him, then at Hokuto, who shrugged and did a good job of looking uneasy.

"He gets pretty strange sometimes. Best not bother him anymore." Her audience nodded sagely, the girls wandering off to find other sources of amusement, the stories beginning again in earnest.

Later that night, as she sat wrapped in her cloak on top of a moonlit dune, Hokuto felt, rather than saw, Katsushiro sit down behind and slightly to the left of her. She grinned. "They let you be, huh, kid?"

"That was a dirty trick," Katsushiro said mildly.

"So? I'm a dirty fighter, and I lie like a dog whenever I can. That business about being a samurai, for instance."

"You're not a detective anymore. They rescinded your commission after you failed to arrest Kyuuzou-dono, and Ukyo ordered you executed. If not a samurai, what are you?"

Hokuto looked over her shoulder into the younger man's calm eyes, and huffed with annoyed amusement. "So you've matured some, huh? I'll tell you what I am—a crotch-kickin' old half-ronin, a bandit's ex-whore, a poor excuse for a mother to three sons."

"Kikuchiyo-dono thought you were a true samurai." Katsushiro curled up in his own cloak, his back to the other. "I think he was right."

Hokuto remained awake for some hours after that, listening to Katsushiro's steady breathing and studying the shifting sands of the dune.

* * *

Underground in the caverns of the Shikimoribito, Kanbei sat in a kitchen and listened, eyes closed, to Honoka's chatter as she argued with Mizuki, set the table, and rushed to fuss over the rice cooking alongside the miso soup. Mizuki, more relaxed than her sister, was stitching up a tear in the side of Kanbei's shirt, grinning as Honoka got more aggravated by the minute, taking every breath that wasn't absorbed in talking to her sister to gossip at the older samurai about this and that, a nice boy she'd met, the younger girls she'd made friends with.

Kanbei listened and nodded and thanked them both for their hospitality. He pretended not to see how Honoka's eyes narrowed when he deflected Mizuki's questions about Shichiroji and Yukino with a counter-question about the former handmaiden's newfound ambition to learn medicine.

An hour later, Ayamaro arrived, beckoning Kanbei outside with the imperiousness he'd never been quite able to rid himself of, and the two of them held a whispered conversation.

Kanbei made to leave later that evening, only to be stopped by Honoka. The young woman's expression was pained.

"Are you going off to die for some mad cause _again? _Kanbei-sama, you've already done enough!"

He just shook his head at her and moved her aside gently but firmly. She almost made to go after him, but Mizuki grabbed her sister before she could and hugged her firmly from behind.

"Neesan, if Shichiroji-dono and Yukino-san couldn't stop him, what makes you think we could? Remember, he's a samurai..."

Kanbei carried on towards the tunnels without looking back. If he told them why he was leaving and where to, if what Ayamaro had told him was true, it would almost certainly expose them to danger.

He would do this alone. He had no other choice.

* * *

Komachi sat beside Kirara, across the fire from Tenmon and glared at him ferociously. Villagers hovered around the windows and door of the council house, curious, but they fled when Komachi gave them the evil eye. The only ones undeterred were Richiki and Okara, who'd taken up residence in the hut behind Tenmon and across from the sisters.

"So let me get this straight—you're a famous medium and fortune-teller?"

"Some people know about me, yes."

"Hm. And you were just going about your business when you got a vision of Kanna. Why so surprised? Had you maybe never had a real one before?" Komachi's eyes narrowed warningly at the man across from her; Tenmon had to make an effort not to squirm under her gaze.

"_Wow, pipsqueak, so cynical," chortled Kikuchiyo, obviously deeply amused. "Keep it up and Ten-noji's gonna wet his pants!"_

_I am not, _the young man thought warningly at his biggest ghostly visitor, before turning his attention back to the world of the living. "It's not that way at all—I've always been able to control my visions, to seek out the futures of specific people. They don't come to me without an effort, much less so unexpectedly that they knock me over."

"Knocked you over? Were you hurt?" Kirara enquired suddenly.

"I—no, Kirara-sama, just very startled."

"So tell us about this 'vision' of yours," Komachi demanded, ignoring her sister's nudge of warning.

Tenmon nodded. "Yes, as I said, I saw your village—saw Kanna. But it was in the winter, and it was on fire."

"_What?"_

"I saw many people lying dead."

Rikichi shifted in his seat, silent but intent. Even Komachi's suspicion was beginning to give way to her curiousity.

"That was...the worst part, really, to see all those people like that...but then it changed and I saw four men standing there. They told me—you see, my visions of the future have never been speculative: they tell me what _will _happen if a person does this or that, but if the first vision I see for them is death, then there is no escaping it for them, and there's nothing so terrible as that."

"Are you saying Kanna will be destroyed?!"

"Well, no, because the men told me that I could _change _it if I came here. They said two threats were coming—one to the peace, and one to the heart—and that by coming to Kanna, I could somehow help stop them...that was all four of them together, you see. But each one of them wanted some specific help, for themselves."

"Help?" Kirara murmured, all four villagers watching Tenmon with wide eyes as the farmers hanging around outside pressed their ears to the wall in worry.

"They can't rest yet. They each feel they failed to do something in life, that they need to do now for those who still live."

The suspicion had all but left Komachi's face; she looked at her knees and whispered, "Nunky..."

Tenmon stopped and looked away, unable to bear seeing the girl's expression.

"_You didn't tell them what it was we failed to do, Tenmon-san," Gorobei noted wryly._

_That is your own business, _thought the medium, _and not my place to tell them._

"_Good." This was Kyuuzou, his crimson eyes ablaze in defiance of the paleness of his shade. _

"_I failed to thwack that darn Kanbei over the head in life for being an idiot!" Kikuchiyo announced to the world at large. "Might have done him some good, too!"_

"_Let's see, Kyuuzou-dono didn't get to fight Kanbei-dono, Kikuchiyo didn't get to marry Komachi and make her happy, Gorobei-dono feels like he didn't really pay back his life—you did, you know, Gorobei-dono..."_

"_Hush, you, or it's the dress again!"_

"_...and I failed to atone for being a traitor and a hypocrite, so we've all got something bothering us, ne?" Heihachi finished brightly, avoiding Gorobei's half-hearted swipe._

_Your hobby seems to be tormenting yourselves, you samurai, _Tenmon thought sadly.

"_Can it, you smart-aleck! Are you gonna help us clean up our mess or not?"_

_Tell me what to do. _Tenmon paused for a moment and looked at Kirara oddly; the priestess stared back at him, wide-eyed. _You know..._

"_Haa?"_

_I'm surprised she hasn't seen you four already. Her latent psychic ability—her power—far surpasses mine._

"_Ten bucks says pining for Katsu-noji's what's keeping it blocked up."_

"_Kiku-noji, you scare me sometimes," Heihachi teased the bigger samurai. "Maybe _you _have some psychic powers."_

_Kyuuzou caught Tenmon by the shoulder. The cold seeped into his bones and made him shiver, even as the man's eyes burned him. "This is was you must do..."_

* * *

In the Firefly House, the evening was in full swing, the music loud and the sake flowing freely. Yukino was entertaining a group of merchants, regulars; she'd been set to duck out when one of them remarked on her gently swelling stomach and jumped to the logical (but frequently misapplied) conclusion, but all three men had been immensely congratulatory and inundated her with tips and advice gained from their own wives by osmosis. Two of the younger courtesans relieved her half an hour later; she left the little party flustered but pleased.

Shichiroji was not in the kitchens or in the entrance staircase, his usual haunts on such nights. Yukino couldn't bring herself to be annoyed, not now; since Kanbei's departure, both of them had dealt with their unhappiness in their usual way, through affectionate bickering and throwing themselves into their work utterly, and if her Momotaro had to disappear for a few hours to wrestle with his personal demons, she wouldn't grudge him.

She spent an hour going over the House's accounts with Tashiko, the third-youngest person in the house and formerly one of the tea servers, but now unofficial deputy to Yukino where monetary matters were concerned. It was therapeutic, she explained to her disbelieving employee.

Shichiroji came back in just as Yukino was really starting to get worried. His expression did nothing to assuage her concern.

"Shichiroji?"

"Just chatting with one of the customers," the blond man said lightly. Yukino just stared at him. "I would have heard if anyone started causing trouble inside."

"Oh, for...it isn't _that. _What are you up to?"

"I told you, nothing. Aa, hear that? It sounds like Fubuki-san tried to get fresh with one of the dancers again...I'm kicking him out for good this time, he's had enough warnings already."

Her lover was out in the hallway again before Yukino could say another word. She sat back on her heels and tried to calm herself by staring at the numbers in front of her. It didn't work.

"Yukino-san, that face Shichiroji-san was just making..."

The woman looked down at Tashiko's solemn expression. The child was so serious and practical, Yukino reflected, it was hard to remember her difficult origins sometimes.

"...when I was little, I saw that detective who saved me make that face before she went in to get the man who bought my services. She and that other samurai came back with his chopped-off head in a bag."

Oh yes; rescued from a man whose tastes ran to the sickeningly young, fragile, and broken, Tashiko had been brought to the Firefly by "that detective" because nobody else would take such a child. Damaged goods, the scar-riddled woman had explained with a look on her like thunder. Shichiroji and Yukino had talked with the detective, with the girl, then taken her in and given her a place and a way to earn a living with her clever head and able hands instead of her little child's body.

The detective the Tashiko was referring to was a known loose cannon, the antithesis to Yukino's easygoing, flirtatious Momotaro. Why would he be wearing _her _face unless...

Yukino got up without another word and slipped out; Tashiko shrugged and went back to her beloved figures and arithmetic.

* * *

Shichiroji dusted his hands off and slammed the front door on the drunkenly protesting Fubuki. He'd been positively gentle with the man, as far as flinging him out into the night went; the grabby bastard would barely bruise at all.

He was really, really itching to deal with something besides a drunk pervert.

Shichiroji wasn't a warmonger; he'd descended by working at the Firefly House, and he was aware of it, but he didn't especially care. He wasn't like those who longed for the glory days, for the age of the samurai all over again (Kanbei had been accused of this in the past, and it never failed to make Shichiroji laugh at the thought of his oldest friend and lover _wishing _for an era of such warfare). But...

But ever since Kanbei had left, his _kamayari _had been positively crying out to him, so much that its hum had even begun to drown out the dank grief of separation.

He couldn't understand why.

Today, he'd found out. Thank goodness for the well-traveled customer who'd visited the port cities to the east of Japan, and who loved to chat, whether with the friendly courtesans or the amiable house yojimbo, it didn't matter.

Shichiroji's hands tingled for his blade even as his heart was torn in two.

"_Stay with Yukino and your child. If you try to follow me..."_

He'd never disobeyed a direct order from Kanbei. Interpreted creatively, oh yes indeed, but he'd never, _ever _disobeyed.

Even if, in this instance, it looked like Kanbei was going into the fight that would finally claim his life.

"Momotaro..."

He realized he'd been standing in the hall outside the guest rooms, staring at nothing, for so long Yukino had been able to track him down. He looked into her sad eyes and felt the blade's call grow fainter—not silent, but markedly fainter.

She reached out and clutched his sleeves with fierce hands. "You've got to tell me what's going on."

* * *

"There's been some...arrivals in the port cities. In the Miyagi province, specifically."

Katsushiro hurried through the desert, easily keeping pace with Hokuto as they leapt from dune to dune. Normally such a rush would be inadvisable, but a storm was whipping up the winds and the nearest cover was ten miles away, so speed was of the essence. But he listened intently to the older woman's words as they went.

"I see. Trading ships from other nations?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first, they styled themselves that way anyway. But I kept tabs on them. Something about that bunch didn't feel right."

"Are you sure that's not just xenophobia talking?"

"Hah! I've known more foreigners than you have, brat, yeah, and liked 'em too. Decent people so long as they ain't the type to convert you, shoot at you, or sell you shit. Same as us really. But this lot...no question there, not after I did a little investigatin' on what they were bringing in their big ships."

"What was it?" Katsushiro asked, his uneasiness clearly growing.

"They're bringin' over war-cruisers, big ones, not as solid as the Citadel-class ones we have left over here, but flashier, faster, better-armed."

"They must be planning an invasion, then."

"Oh no, kid, that's where it gets tricky. See, I had a few words with the portmaster, had to smack him around a bit 'cause he was bein' _reticent _with me, in terms of the truth, but for all their sneakin' around those bastards have their papers worked out all proper. Signed and sealed. They've been _invited, _by someone in Japan who knows _exactly _what they're bringin' and doesn't care, or wants it for themselves." Hokuto's smile was grim. "I've been trying to find out more, but there's a lot of dead ends, and in some cases I mean that _literally. _A lot of the low-levelers connected with this affair tend to fall down stairs or stab themselves in the neck before I can get to them."

"I wish you wouldn't beat people up for information," Katsushiro said distractedly, "it's deeply unbecoming of a samurai."

"Whaddaya want me to do, ask him nicely? Give him a damn written request? You don't know anything about this, kid..."

Katsushiro's silence was thoughtful enough that Hokuto looked over at him, pale green eyes narrowing.

"...do you?"

"I might. Have you heard of "Samurai above all Samurai"?"

"Nope, and already I don't like him. Sounds like a pretentious shithead."

"I think that, whoever he is, he must be linked to your foreigners with the war machines."

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

Katsushiro darted around the side of a dune and pulled up short; Hokuto almost ran into the back of him.

In the shadow of what loomed above them, the green-haired young samurai's expression was deeply troubled. "Well, perhaps we can start with _this."

* * *

_

_TO BE CONTINUED_


	3. The Enemy

**Through Other Eyes**

****

**Chapter Three: The Enemy**

* * *

"Neesama, I still don't like this much."

Kirara said nothing as she rummaged in the cupboard, coming up with the formal traveling robes of a senior shrine priestess, the ones worn by her grandmother before her. Behind her, Komachi's frown deepened.

"Okay, so what if he's not lying? Why do you need to go with him, huh? A guy like that can only get you into trouble, I bet he's associated with all sorts of underworld types..."

"Komachi," Kirara said firmly, shrugging out of her day-to-day village wear and into the robes. They were a little musty, but they fitted well and were surprisingly comfortable. "Please don't argue with me any more. I've made up my mind."

"Then take someone with you! I'll go and—"

"You'll stay here."

"But—!"

"Can't you feel it? I can, and I'm not even the one with the pendant. You _need _to stay here."

Komachi eyed her knees and grumbled. "Stupid pendant isn't right all the time..."

"Komachi."

"I just don't want you to leave and get hurt!" the younger girl burst out, her eyes welling up with tears. Kirara stifled the reprimand on her tongue, and hugged her sister suddenly; the duties of the priestess, on top of the emotional upheaval from Tenmon's announcement about the spirits of the samurai who'd died for their village, were taking their toll on Komachi.

And now Kirara was leaving her to deal with her problems alone. If it had been for any other reason, Kirara would have dismissed going on this journey with Tenmon as a purely selfish action and remained at Kanna, but...

_Kyuuzou-dono asks that you come with me. He says he can't fulfill his obligation regarding Kanbei without your help. Heihachi-dono agrees._

Kirara let Komachi cry into the robes for a little while longer, her mind elsewhere suddenly. Four samurai had died for the village—three had gone away and never returned, only one with a home and someone who loved him waiting for him. She'd wondered...

Maybe this was a selfish act on her part, but if Kyuuzou wanted to find Kanbei, she was equally interesting in seeing what had become of the older samurai. Not to mention, if they should stumble across Katsushi—

_Definitely _selfish. She cursed herself inwardly as Komachi wiped her nose and looked up at her sister, calmer but still red about the eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, neesama, I'm not being much help right now...I promise I'll take good care of Kanna, me'n Rikichi-san, until you get back. But you gotta promise—"

"Hm?"

"Yeah, if that guy does _anything _funny, you kick him in the nuts and run away, okay, neesama?"

Kirara couldn't stop herself; she laughed aloud, and for a moment she fancied she heard a trace of a bigger, more booming laugh overlapping her own. But that was just silly...

In any case, she reminded herself as Komachi stuffed an extra parcel of food in her traveling sack, if she were going to come to harm, it wouldn't be at Tenmon's hands, at least not with the fortuneteller's intent. After spending one day with the man, her assessment of Tenmon was one of the most mild-mannered people she'd ever come across, impervious to insult, suspicion, and shunning, displaying a slightly astonished, childlike delight whenever he'd somehow made someone happy. Essentially, a perfect medium, someone with such a quiet spirit that a sufficiently motivated ghost could freely inhabit their welcoming body.

And that was the problem. The minute Kirara heard from Tenmon's lips that Kyuuzou's unfulfilled obligation involved _Kanbei, _the young priestess had gone on the alert; grimly noble as he had been in life, Kyuuzou's unwavering, oft-stated intent was Kanbei's demise on the point of his own swords.

Komachi handed her the sack and Kirara got to her feet. Out by the cliffs, with proper reverence, some of the village men, supervised by Rikichi, would be removing Kyuuzou and Heihachi's blades from their graves about now.

Then they would help Tenmon strap all three swords onto his own back.

* * *

Hokuto stared up at the massive thing before them. "Mother-fucking donkey balls—!"

Katsushiro was much too preoccupied to scold her for bad language. The young samurai reached out and ran a hand over the sand-worn steel of the mecha's leg. "This is one of them, I'm certain of it. Can you read the writing on the leg?"

"Y-yeah, I can. It's the Roman alphabet... "Gekkou, Behemoth-Class"? What the hell's a Behemoth?"

"I don't know, but it appears as if someone took the old Benigumo-types used in the intergalactic war and forged them much bigger and more heavily-armed...this thing is equipped with at least three cannons, with the sword as a secondary weapon. I don't know if any normal samurai could possibly stand up to it...I managed, but it was difficult." Katsushiro made his was around the crashed giant, his eyes narrowing as he went. "Hey, there's a body back here."

"Hm? Let me see it, then, I know something about looking over corpses."

The young man stepped aside for Hokuto, and, smiling faintly, restrained himself from pointing out that she hadn't called him "kid" or rubbed his nose in his inexperience for kicks yet. The taller woman squatted down beside the battered form, squinting at it.

"Well, he's a foreigner, that much I can tell you, but I've never seen that uniform before in my life. Oh, and he's fresh dead, and he may not have been a samurai but he was cut down by one unless I miss my guess."

"But the outside of his machine is very worn down."

"So what do _you _make of that?"

Katsushiro turned the body over with his scabbard so that the dead man was looking up at the sky, unseeing eyes wide, face drawn in a final expression of pain. "This robot had been traveling around for some time before its operator was struck down. Traveling unnoticed. After the destruction of the Nobuseri, one would assume such a thing would be observed and remarked on..."

Hokuto nodded, grinning. "Not too shabby, Okamoto-kun."

Katsushiri sighed faintly. "I wish you wouldn't call me –kun."

"I ain't callin' you –dono. I don't call _anybody _–dono. Or –sama. Unlike you and that girl you were clearly too stupid to take up with."

Katsushiro's face flamed red instantly. "I asked you before to drop the subject, thank you! But since you won't, where are those sons of yours you were talking about? Somehow I doubt the bushido path allows you to be an attentive mother any more than it would allow me to be a good husband—!"

The flat of Hokuto's sword came whistling down; Katsushiro parried it lightening-swift and knocked it aside, pausing at the dark expression on the older woman's face.

Hokuto's voice was edging into a snarl. "Your _doubt _is well-founded, Okamoto Katsushiro; just like every other idiot samurai, yours truly included, we don't think we're properly following our bushido path unless we leave a trail of broken hearts, huh?"

Both swordsmen stared at each other, blades drawn; both backed down at the same moment.

"I apologize, Shichisei-dono, my comment was disrespectful."

"No more than mine was...whatever's between you and that girl is your business anyway. It just...makes me tired, that's all." Hokuto sheathed her blade and pulled a face, making her myriad old scars do odd things. "A samurai should have more discipline."

"Some would say that means his unhappiness is justified," Katsushiro said quietly.

There was a moment more of tense silence.

It was broken by the whine of half a dozen engines; like ghosts riding before the wind storm, six gigantic humanoid shapes appeared around them.

"_**Unidentified samurai, throw down your swords and surrender!"**_

* * *

It was cold out in the desert.

That didn't stop Kanbei. An entire army wouldn't have stopped him as he made his way across the blasted sands, moonlight gradually flaying the dunes bare of all shadow. No such army was there to try and stay his course; no living thing got in his way, save...

...save for something small and furry that scuttled across his path, a three-legged desert rodent of some kind, mutated by the fallout from where the gigantic ships had dropped out of the sky. It was nothing but a flicker of movement and a squeak.

Kanbei darted forwards, concealing himself in the curve of a dune, hand on hilt as he listened intently for noise other than the blowing winds.

Something beneath the sand hummed softly, moving under its shifting surface, creating a very gradual roll across a five-foot area, over the flatbeds where Kanbei had been walking these last few days.

The samurai willed himself into perfect stillness, even as he fixed his gaze on the small, rolling wave of sand approaching his hiding place.

It put him in mind of the one occasion where he'd encountered a shark.

Out of the rolling sand popped something round and black on a spindly metal arm; it rotated, sweeping the dunes with a beam of solid red. Then it pulled inwards and the wave ground to a halt, changed direction, and began moving away from Kanbei.

He didn't move again until he was absolutely certain he could hear nothing except the usual desert noises, feel no humming vibrations. Only then did he approach the disturbed flatbeds, allowing himself no more than ten minutes out of his travel time to examine this phenomenon and confirm his suspicions.

It took him only five minutes of hard prodding with foot and blade to find what he was looking for, and split-second reaction time saved him when his foot went through six inches of packed sand into nothingness, causing the area for twenty feet around him to collapse inwards. He leapt to solid ground, gained his footing, and looked down into the massive hole in the earth that had been caused by whatever was "swimming" in the desert.

Kanbei cautiously pressed onwards.

* * *

"Did the Leviathan-class register him accurately?"

"Yes, o samurai-sama. It is indeed the man called Shimada Kanbei. The Leviathan pilots remembered your orders and did not attack him, but returned here swiftly to bring you the readouts of their scans."

"So I see...he almost evaded the scanners completely." Full, blood-red lips curved upwards. It was a sight to freeze a man's heart rather than quicken his blood. "What a magnificent creature. And yet...so quaint. He travels on foot?"

"Yes, o samurai-sama."

"He will be slow in reaching us, then. Very well; I shall be patient and allow him to come to me. All of our Leviathan and Behemoth-class combatants know that he is to travel unmolested? I want him undamaged when he encounters me, and the Admiral would rather not needlessly lose any of our military hardware."

The messenger's moment of hesitation did not go unnoticed.

"What is it? Why, do you not believe me?"

"O-o samurai-sama, I mean absolutely no disrespect, but how can that be? The mecha that we have imported can destroy any number of samurai...how could they be destroyed by one man?"

The luckless messenger did not even see his leader move; she was ten feet away and then beside him in the blink of an eye. Flat, pale blue eyes seemed to smile at him as breath tickled his nose.

"Oh, you poor fool...but how could you know? Samurai such as Shimada Kanbei—and there are still those like him, although not quite of his caliber—could slice apart a Leviathan-class machine as easily as I just cut off your arm."

"But o samurai-sama, you did noeeeeEEEEAAAAAAUUUGH!"

She sheathed her blade and turned away as the messenger fell, clutching the bleeding stump of his arm and writhing. "You may go see the doctors and have that attended to. And please do cease that pointless screaming—after all, you still have one arm left."

The sole other figure on the dais, skinny and sallow, chuckled nervously as she returned to her original place, golden kimono sleeves floating and unstained. "Ahehehe, quite ruthless, are you not? But of course—you're a samurai."

"I am _the _samurai," she corrected him softly as the messenger dragged himself away, sobbing. "Well—I will be, once we tie up these few loose ends."

"One of which is Shimada Kanbei, is it not? Taken a bit of a shine to him, eh?"

"If you wished to use such vulgarities, which do not properly encompass the bond that is between such as him and such as me, then yes, I have."

"Ahehehe, so sorry, so sorry. And the other loose ends are being taken care of as we speak, are they not? This Shichiroji, for one thing...and I heard rumors of a few others we may have missed, but I'm sure they will all gradually be drawn to us anyways, eh?"

"The Admiral will deal easily with this Shichiroji," she said softly, and for just a moment her thin cohort caught a gleam of something like malicious glee in those usually empty eyes. "He is of that caliber, but once we have Shimada Kanbei, he will be—superfluous."

"As I said, quite ruthless, ahehehe."

* * *

Yukino's tea had long grown cold in her hands as she sat and stared at her lover, eyes going wider with shock. "Mechanical samurai?"

"For lack of a better word," Shichiroji said darkly. "They're not a single samurai's body remade into metal, they're too big for that; instead he said they're operated by a team of men according to specifications."

"So just robots, then."

"But with capabilities beyond that of even a Benigumo-type," Shichiroji corrected. "Our guest said he'd seen at least a dozen brought through the port last week in his city alone, and gods knew about the other trading cities."

"Where are they going? The capital has fallen..."

"That's what I'd like to know. That's what I think Kanbei found out, why he left."

Yukino nearly knocked her cup over. "That reckless fool. At the very least he could have taken you with him."

"See, that's where you're wrong, Yukino," Shichiroji said idly, toying with the corner of his coat with his cybernetic hand. "I'm the fool, for not noticing what was bothering him. I just thought he'd gone because he felt he was in the way somehow; now I see some of what he saw, the danger I think he wanted to keep both of us from."

"Oh…then you'll...?"

"Stay," he said in the smallest voice she'd ever heard. "He gave me a direct order, and..."

"Shichiroji..." She took him into her arms gently and he tangled his fingers in her hair. "The only danger I'm in here is of having a handprint worn on my stomach from all the girls wanting to feel in case the baby kicks. Or of going mad from all the conflicting advice I'm getting on how to handle a first child." She tactfully didn't mention the number of comments that had included the phrase "giving birth at your age", which tended to set her teeth on edge and make her hands shake.

"I hope so," was all he said, before their oldest employee, the Firefly House's aged and cantankerous secretary-cum-substitute geisha, came tottering in.

"We have a customer," she announced unceremoniously, ignoring how Shichiroji and Yukino separated on instinct and acted as if they hadn't been doing anything. "Some gaijin type looking for the authentic comfort experience. Big spender, this one."

"Ah," Yukino said, smiling a little, "that'd be nice, although it's a bit late...will you let the girls know and tell the cooks to get things ready? I'll go see him myself for a bit." She rose and followed the tiny older woman out.

Shichiroji stayed in the tatami room a little longer, his mind wandering someplace else, before coming back to reality and to the noise thrumming in his ears...

...in his bedroom, hidden beneath the mats, the blade of the _kamayari _was screaming.

* * *

Yukino bowed politely to the big man before her; he bowed back in the approved style, his smile warm and self-deprecating.

"I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be allowed your hospitality. Most houses in the pleasure district have very backwards policies on foreigners, you see, and I _had _hoped to enjoy such an authentic Japanese experience before I left..."

Well, it was true, and usually the Firefly House's foreign visitors were of a piece with their usual clientele, some delightful, some no less than aggravating. But Yukino almost frowned and broke her mask of perfection; something about this man was... "Indeed, we are most honored in our turn to receive you. I see you have some high rank in your home nation...a general, perhaps?"

"Not quite," the man corrected gently, chuckling. He was surely the most physically imposing person Yukino had ever encountered, almost as big as Kikuchiyo, broad-shouldered and immaculately dressed in a dark blue uniform with white pants. He had thick sideburns, and his hands were broad and powerful. Broad enough to easily fit around a small Japanese woman's neck. "I am an admiral. Admiral Joseph Garvin is my name."

* * *

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

* * *

A/N: To my very kind reviewers, thanks for your encouragement! (Dear KatsuKira fans, please be patient, they're on opposite sides of the desert right now, and progression will only really come with interaction. ) As for my pace of updates, I have no idea: I'll try to add chapters as often as I can, especially since right now the muse is strong with me (a.k.a t3h samuraiz etz0rs m3h brainz0rs), but I can probably safely say after this chapter that...it may update every week or so? If it's longer than that, or somehow I lose momentum/interest, I'll make some kind of notice on my profile or what-have-you. Thanks again!


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